


Nymph

by hauntedpoem



Series: The bait [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow wherefore art thou Jon Snow?, Other, Ramsay is his own warning, Red Wedding did happen, Theon becomes Thea, female!Theon, flaying, necrophiliac Ramsay, seriously disturbed Ramsay, which makes this Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2249319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/pseuds/hauntedpoem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Men are like roses,<br/>Watch out for the pricks.<br/>:)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stage 1: Growing

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no! I feel like such a sinner for writing fem!Theon!

She was only thirteen when it happened. The sheets were stained red and her white nightshirt got ruined. Sansa, too young to understand what was happening, was the one that alerted lady Catelyn with her screams. Septa Mordane came in tow, running behind the Lady of Winterfell and urged the maids to bring warm water and rags. Her linen sheets had to be scrubbed of dried blood, then boiled. The maids eyed her nastily, sniggering behind Lady Catelyn's back.

"You're a woman now," that's what she said as she brought the foul smelling concoction and placed it into Thea's hands.

"Now drink your moon-tea. It will ease the pain and the discomfort."

The moon-tea didn't do much, though... It just helped a bit with the pain but it tasted awful and Thea's face contorted at the taste. Septa Mordane snorted at her and rolled her eyes. She was probably annoyed that Sansa's screams managed to wake the whole Winterfell by the time her mother calmed her down.

"Don't worry, it's just her monthly blood, my child," said lady Catelyn while gently holding her hand.

"That moon-tea won't let you get with child, that's why it tastes so horrid!" She said after the Lady had left to attend to little Arya and Bran who were snivelling and crying for waking up alone. The mere thought of getting pregnant made Thea want to vomit but she drank the foul-tasting tea and went back to bed. It didn't help that early in the morning, Robb barged into their room and asked her what happened last night. She just gulped and blushed because she couldn't tell.

At fourteen, Thea discovered boys. She thought of them differently. She couldn't compare any of them to Robb, who was a brother to her. Lady Catelyn taught her how to wear dresses like a proper maiden and helped her with the sewing and knitting. Sometimes, she would reprimand her for going horse-riding and arrow-shooting with the men. Rare we the times when she allowed it and Thea took great pleasure in roaming free through the woods and along the river. The Lady was always sighing as she didn't like Thea ruining her garments, and her eyes brimmed with disapproval whenever the girl jumped up in joy at the thought of going hunting.

These boys were different than her brothers and sisters. They behaved differently towards her now that she started wearing dresses and collecting herbs with Septa Mordane.

She wasn't blind at how one of the stable-hands looked at her. Soon enough, they were rolling in the hay and she let him put his rough hands under her skirts. He touched further than the thighs and she moaned in surprise as he touched her deeper and deeper, until she kicked and she pleaded for him to stop. He mouthed her neck and squeezed her little breasts and tugged at her hair. It all lasted until Jory Cassel found them and pushed the boy harshly away from her. He must have heard her pleas. But Cassel wasn't blind. She soon discovered what all the boys wanted. It didn't have to be one of the stable boys, not anymore.

She found others, and soon, Thea learnt how to undo their breeches and tug at their small clothes until the fabric pooled at their ankles to reveal their desire for her. She held their cocks in her slender hands and looked them right in the eye until they blushed and stuttered just like little kids. Sometimes, it felt like a competition with herself if she managed to make them spill themselves in her hand or on her chest. 

She had stained many beautiful dresses by fifteen and her mouth had tasted almost anyone that suited her needs. Her fingers were not enough, it seemed. That lasted until she decided that Jory Cassel would do. She knew the way he looked at her, his dark eyes gleaming with something like molten lust whenever they sat at the table. She wondered whether his cock was as big as his hands were, whether it would turn red or purple, whether it would fit into her mouth or between her small breasts. 

As she neared sixteen she found out the truth. Cassel fucked like he fought. He used his cock like a sword and it brought her both pleasure and immense pain. He fucked her in the Godswood, slapped her white arse cheeks with his rough hands and spread her cunt around his member mercilessly. 

"You didn't forget about your moon-tea, I hope," he said as he slammed again and again into her as Thea clung to the grass and roots on the ground. She could barely speak but nodded instead. His face contorted a grimace with the effort and he started going faster, faster, faster, until she felt the inside of her cunt catch fire. That's when she noticed him, dark haired and snot-nosed, hiding in the woods. The bastard looked at her with wide eyes and mouth agape as Cassel fucked her harder into the ground. She wanted to scream at him, tell him to go away but as she felt Jory's hands on her delicate breasts, she lost all shame and started moaning and grunting just to scare him away. Jon Snow wasn't intimidated, though, for he stayed long enough to see Cassel spill inside her and then help her up on her feet.

"You can't tell about this to anyone, girl, or Ned will see that my head parts ways with the rest of my body."

Of course she wouldn't tell. She didn't have to because Jon Snow already knew about it.


	2. Stage 2: Feasting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~At eighteen, Robb kisses her. ~

He kept changing every time she looked his way. Somehow, deep in her mind, Thea knew he looked at her as well but from afar. Jon Snow was just surreptitious like that. But he could not beat her at this game.

With Jory Cassel’s hands imprinted on her hips, her dress ruffled and twigs in her dark hair, she ran back to the castle, bumping into a smiling Robb Stark on her way. He smiled at her and for a moment she felt like kissing him… but then she thought better of it. Her craving had been satisfied but there was an ache that continued to spread through her like wildfire. Instead of being a good girl and finishing the work that was assigned to her by Septa Mordane, Thea went back to the stables. She waited for him and to her surprise, the bastard came. His brooding eyes caught on the surrounding light, turning them into the silvery colour of all swords in Winterfell. He appeared upset, sorrowful, accusing.

But Jon Snow was a very curious little thing and she wanted to play upon that. She perched on a working table and beckoned to him to come closer. To her surprise, the bastard brought wine from the kitchens. To his surprise, she took off her dress.

When Thea turned seventeen, she lured Jon into the habit of playing a very interesting and dangerous game. She went into the woods, he followed her. She seduced men in Winterfell and Wintertown, he discovered that wine was as good as the milk of the poppy. She slept with them and fooled around, he watched. He sometimes touched himself and she could see but never said a word afterwards.

He blushed in shame and fondled her chest and her thighs as she requested. He knows his way down her waist like the back of his hand. Her cunt was wet and he could smell it on her, the other men’s seed. It made him jealous, crazed, yet he shut up and did nothing about it.

At eighteen, Robb kissed her. It was a drunken collision of lips which ended in a dirty, sloppy suck. She blushed. She never thought she could blush again.Robb’s breeches tented uncomfortably and it was clear how alarmed he became about it. She never expected to return the kiss, though… It was more because of Robb’s discomfort that she complied not because of Jon Snow’s eyes gleaming in the dark.

There in the woods, he’s got no clue about what to do but gets on top of her like an animal and his hands are everywhere. He’s that desperate. It’s difficult to take his breeches off, Thea remarks, because he squirms and doesn’t stay put. He spends on her beautiful blue dress, a present from Lady Catelyn, the moment her nimble fingers touch his cock. He comes too fast and he’s blushing ashamedly.

“I love you,” he says. “I’ve always loved you!” It’s clearly the most interesting confession she’s ever heard. Back from behind a bush, she hears Jon’s derisive snort. She keeps silent about it and throws a deadly glare in its way. Robb looks lost in her direction, he’s lovelorn and restless, huge dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep.

“All I’ve ever dreamt was you…”

At night, she sneaked into his room, Jon Snow glaring cruelly at her back. After she snuffed the wick of the candle, she whispered harshly to the bastard: “Go away, Jon, I have no use for you anymore.”

Robb’s pliant into her hands. He does as he’s told, a blushing virgin, yet aroused beyond expectation. She took him into her warm mouth at first. He was so enthralled that when she kissed him on the lips afterwards, letting him have a taste of his own seed, he started crying and mumbling like a child. When she is about to leave, in the morning, he whispered a shy “I love you” into her ear.

Back in her room, Jon Snow paces back and forth like a feral animal. He’s jealous but powerless.

She finds him half asleep on her bed, curled like a ball in his rough, dark clothes.

When they celebrated her nineteenth birthday, Robb asked her out in Wintertown. He prepared her horse and her arrows because everyone knows that he’s anxious to go hunting again with the best archer in Winterfell. But what no one else knew is that he was also anxious to take her down and push her skirts up and feel her cunt tightening around him, while the wind kept whistling through the trees.

Thea appeared ravishing in her purple dress and the Stark women looked enviously in her direction: lady Catelyn wishing she were younger, Sansa jealous of her surreal beauty and Arya always trying to surpass her on her skills with a bow. The men looked strangely at her, though.

Jon Snow didn't come to her celebration.

He’s out in the Godswood with his sword, practicing on phantom enemies. He’s all trembling and worked up and when he crumbles in a pile of leaves, he feels defeated, he feels abandoned.

His birthday present is not worthy of her.

Or so he thinks.

At nineteen, besides other things, Thea goes to war along with Robb, now the King in the North. He asked for her hand in marriage but she smiled cheekily at him and kissed his lips instead. Jon Snow is up North, at the Castle Black. Sometimes, when the black of the night is too ravaging on her dreams, she thinks of him and wishes he were there, watching her. That is, when Robb doesn’t call for her.

Instead of telling his mother and everyone else that he and Thea are lovers, he goes along with the proposal coming from the Freys. In private, he confesses to her, though: “I could never love anyone more than I love you.”

She wanted to believe it as she embarks for Pyke, but her father, when upon seeing her dressed like a warrior princess, all in silver and white, slapped her hard instead. She fell to the floor. The ironborn, they are harsh and cruel like that. How could she be one of them, she wondered? But her father wanted her proof, he wanted to claim the North and she there she was, the perfect instrument.

Until she found out that Robb’s words were just that… words. Empty, deceiving words.

She takes Winterfell and burns it to the ground, until the light is pounded out her head. She finds herself into a cell. It’s cold and damp, and no one looks at her. She cries and she shivers. Thea Greyjoy, betrayed by her ironborn.

His face is pale, his eyes are too and his smile is poisonous. She wants to believe what he says, she really wants to. It is the only way.

“All that I want to do, is serve you, my princess…”

Somehow, there are the whispers of a snake intermingled with his words. But he saves her and does unspeakable things. She tries not to watch, but he asks her to and his hands linger on the small of her back just like chains.

“No… Not the children, please!”

“It must be done, my princess, otherwise, what would Robb think?”

Indeed… what would Robb think, now that he’s to marry another?

She realized she hadn’t thought of Jon Snow in a while…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... gimme your comments, say what you want, don't be shy!


	3. Stage 3: Molting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~At twenty, Ramsay weds her.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay is a necrophiliac.  
> (... I thought I should warn you.)

He gives her soft furs and smiles at her like a beast as she settles on the makeshift mattress in the woods, next to the jolly fire. He sits under a dark, secular tree and watches her with his pale eyes.

“You should rest, my princess,” he says and his words cut the air swiftly, without resistance, just like a sharp blade in a willing victim. The voice alone makes her shiver. Ever since her rebellion, no one has called her that, especially not a lowborn like this man.

“Oh Gods, what have I done,” she whispers to herself, her back turned to the stranger that allegedly saved her life. Thea cannot stop her tears from flowing.

“You’ve done what you had to, my princess,” he adds, and his words worm in her heart but do not stop the crying.

Later, when they get hungry enough, she realises that the man would be better with an axe than with a bow. He’s good at skinning rabbits and squirrels as if that’s his sole purpose in life. When she asks him why the precise skinning, his dead eyes light up and he smirks like a heathen.

“A flayed thing holds no secrets, neither does a flayed man…”

It’s already been a day in his company and she warms up to him, little by little. It's the only way that makes the murders she took part in more bearable. They eat in silence, while he pretends to be her willing servant.

“Where are you taking me, boy… ?” she asks after they reach into a clearing. Her dress is all torn and thread, her gloves have holes in them. When he doesn’t answer, Thea grips her bow tighter and tighter. She stops walking. He does the same, after a while and his eyes change now that there’s distance between them. He doesn’t answer and keeps smirking unnervingly. She is desperate and feels more alone than ever and the thought of that grin being wiped off the boy’s face gives her pleasure.

On the third day, she grows restless in her furs and the tent made of skins and twigs constricts her. She asks him to come in. He seems to have come out of a bad jape when his eyes lie on her naked skin, spread before him. She tugs at his breeches and starts palming him but he doesn’t get hard. His eyes seem to be looking somewhere, far away and his face transforms with an unfathomable anger. He swats her hand, harshly; leaving bruises and doesn’t stop there. He hits her hard in the head until Thea’s vision fades to black.

The moment they reach the Dreadfort, she is tied and thrown into another cold, dark cell, not larger than the previous one. His name is Ramsay Snow, but he wants to be called Bolton. He ties her to the cross, his pale eyes lit with hellish fire. She can’t stop crying, that’s how desperate she is when she hears the wails and screams and moans and last breaths in the dark.

He's standing bare-chested before her and the only light comes from fuming torches. He is pale and fleshy. When she looks down, she sees a woman, barely breathing. Her hair is pale and dirty, like the straws in the stables. Her ribs must be broken for she barely breathes and her body lingers in pain more than necessary. Then, the bastard pushes her with his boot clad foot and kicks her hard in the ribs until the sharp bones puncture the thin, sick skin. When the skeletal woman starts gurgling blood, he is upon her, breeches undone.

Somewhere, far away, the dogs are howling in the dark, cold night.

After a month, Thea learns that it takes more than becoming a dog to Ramsay Bolton in order to live. After seeing tens of girls mutilated and raped and then given to the hungry beasts, she is sure that she would do anything to stay afloat. Rose, Pearl, Myra, Tansy, Violet, Kyra… they are all gone now, their corpses defiled and decaying in a sad corner of the Dreadfort.

At twenty, Ramsay weds her. The bastard can’t fuck her like he wants to… but he can beat her bloody. Every night, he brings a new one, pale and in the throes of death, bearing the sad name of a flower and grinds the light out of her. That’s when Thea understands that the bastard’s thick member only rises to corpses. The thought alone makes her vomit.

Counting on her fingers becomes the nightly lullaby as her tongue expertly avoids the cracked teeth and the bloodied gums. It helps her not to think about what the bastard and his cold, disgusting, snake-like father have done.

_One, Two, Three… Four… Five… Six… Robb Stark’s gone, you should have seen his mother… And that wife of his!_

She should have cut that beast’s throat then and there, when he delivered the news. She could have done it, her hands got steadier after the news sank in her chest like a blade drenched in poison. There was peace for just about a second. There was quiet, there was nothing…

They sent her fingers, one by one, her skin, her hair, her teeth… and yet… she’s here and all over Westeros at once.

Her dried skin… did Jon Snow touch it when he read the letter? Her ring finger in a red cherry box… did Robb feel sorry for her, or was he disgusted?

Now… she’ll never know. Except that the thought of Jon Snow with her dead, dried skin in his hands sends shivers through her spine.

_Would he be disgusted if he saw me now?_

The new skin on her back itches with redness. She strangles a cry and finally closes her eyes because Bolton senior decided to pay her a visit.

_I bet he would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And... hopefully... you'll let me know how you feel about this!
> 
> Just to let you all know, this fic is going to have a sequel...

**Author's Note:**

> I would appreciate your comments and feedback on this one. As you can see, I am on a writing spree and Theon is my muse, as usual. Show some love and say what you think because I already know this is a short, dirty fic.


End file.
